For Old Times' Sake?
by TheRevolutionIsInMyHands
Summary: What if Rudy hadn't died when the bomb hit Himmel Street? What if Liesel found him, and a romance was kindled from a strong friendship? Who also survives? LieselXRudy Disclaimer: I don't own The Book Thief. Told from Liesel's POV.
1. Aftermath

It was a cold night when I discovered my street, Himmel, had been brutally bombed. Technically, you could call it either day or night—you couldn't tell all the same. The sky was dyed a rusty, thick red that scarily resembled all the spilled blood drying into the air, staining the clouds as well as the invisible moon or sun. If it really _was_ night, the stars would be covered in drying blood, too.

_"Papa . . . Mama . . ."_ I whimpered, feeling the life rush out of my fingertips, and the blood still inside me slither from my toes. It all gathered to my heart, where it bled.

Papa, his molten silver eyes were probably glazed over with the vacant stare I saw in Werner all those years ago. His smile still etched onto his face, probably, that old _saukerl_. No, it wasn't right to call Papa that, even though he would never hear it. I missed him, and his soul would be in a better place, just like Mama Number One.

But Mama Number Two. . . She was gone, also.

I felt tears cold as ice pour down my cheeks, but they felt warm as they fell onto my palms. They were spattered with drying blood the color of the sky. What has the _Führer_ done to his own country; and, more importantly, why?

I heard several yelps from a few meters behind me—in what was left of Rudy Steiner's house. I could barely hear them, so I crept forward until I was at a slightly upraised platform of concrete. You could barely tell it was a part of the cracked and crumbling, well, crumbled, sidewalk now that everything had been encrusted over at least three times with dust; and that included people.

"Rudy; Rudy, you _saukerl_, where in God's name are you?!"

"_Mmhmfmfulufuff!"_ Rudy? He was actually alive?

"Rudy!" I flung myself downwards at the mangled ground and started digging, ripping away chips of dusty sidewalk until a small hole let light shine through, and it rested on a full mop of hair the color of lemons. I wanted to run down there, but the expression on Rudy's face told me to stay put.

His normal smile was twisted and stretched into an awkward yellow frown, dust shaking free of his clothing and hair when he craned his neck towards the light. The deep blue eyes I'd come to love were lost in the grieving for all his family. They looked like Dolls' Eyes. His pale, German skin showed only the ruins of his life, scarred and beaten and filthy. Tears welled up in my own eyes watching him hold one of his deceased siblings. A brother; his arm and leg missing, blood caking almost every bit of the youthful corpse. Forever young, forever gone.

"Liesel, you _dummkopf!_ Tear a hole any wider and the whole thing would've collapsed!"

"But Rudy . . . how would I get you out?"

"You don't! I'm staying with my brother! He's not dead; this is just a bad dream! The cuckoos would have woken us all up, Liesel! Don't you _get_ it?!" Rudy's retort stung, but he left out one fatal flaw. One flaw that I hoped was true.

"Oh, _Rudy_, you don't get it! In dreams you can't get hurt!" In nightmares, even, you woke up when you hit the ground or something. You jump from your bed, even. And this was no dream; I hurt so bad everywhere. Enough to _kill_.

"You're lying! I knew you were a book thief, Liesel, but I never knew you were a liar! I thought you were better than that!" His comment . . . stung like a whole army of a Mother Load _Schlagen; _of beatings; _watschen, _even. Tears blurred my response as well as my vision, already poor in the desolate landscape.

"Rudy . . . I'm not lying," I sobbed, crouching down on my knees and burying my face in the bloody, sweaty palms of my hands. The nails scratched at my eyelids; it hurt, but not as much as the biting insult of my thievery some odd days ago. The woman who owned the books would be gone, too.

"Liesel, Liesel . . . _Saumensch,_ listen!" His nickname for me made my ears focus on him, and my eyes to be cast down again. "I _know_ he's dead; I know that all of them are. It just hurts, Liesel. I never wanted to lose my family, even though—even though—I did some stupid things, huh?" Rudy hiccupped. His jumbled speech was hard to listen to. I had stopped crying, over Rudy, at least. Papa. . .

"We _both_ did some really stupid things, Rudy. We should've never stolen those apples, and in my case, I should've never stolen a book."

"Liesel . . . Please, Liesel, don't blame this all on you, I can't take it." His lemon hair and blueberry eyes spoke to me from below, even if he had to yell. "Now, _Saumensch_, can you help me up?"

"What about your family? Don't they deserve a burial?" I blurted, thinking of headstones made out of our former houses and painted with all the extra paint from the basement, which was visible kind of under the rest of the house.

"They're already buried; but a proper one? Yeah, I s'pose, but so did your Papa and Mama. You can't help them now, either." He was right; of all the stupidly brilliant things that _saukerl_ Rudy Steiner had ever said, this was the most . . . meaningful. I _couldn't_ help them, no matter how hard I tried. And neither could he, nor us together.

"I'm so sorry, Rudy."

"Why? It's not like any of this is _your_ fault. It's that damn _Führer_ that got the best of Germany and dragged it down." That was the first time I had ever heard Rudy curse the _Führer_ in public, even though nobody but me could hear it.

"Yeah; that damn _Führer_," I repeated, feeling a strong connection despite the ground that I'd forgotten to dig up so Rudy could fit through.

"Well, Liesel, are you going to get me out of here, or do I have to beg?"

"Although that would be nice, _Saukerl_," I completed my sentence by digging several more inches into the rubble, and finally breaking off a piece big enough so that Rudy could squeeze himself through . . . with my helping hand.

Panting and chests heaving, we sprawled across the ground. Yellow-orange mist seeped into our clothes, leaving a damp sheet across the bombed area. I still couldn't believe that Himmel Street was completely gone.

"I remember," Rudy suddenly blurted, "when you came here for the first time, Liesel. You were so much scrawnier and so shy . . . But not for long. You grew a lot of muscle over the years. And you're not afraid of anything."

"I'm afraid of a lot of things, Rudy. Like being alone, and losing what I still have. And when I sleep, I will still see Werner, and now Papa and Mama will join him."

"Who's Werner?"

"My brother; he was supposed to come with me here, to Himmel Street. You would've liked him—he wasn't shy or anything, not like me. He died on the train-ride over here. You two would've made good friends. I miss him a lot."

"Oh," Rudy folded one arm behind his neck, and rest the other one on his stomach. It looked unnatural.

Then, something nothing short of miraculous happened. A lone, solid soccer ball bounced into my lap, just like that. It was covered with dirt and grime, but it wasn't popped or anything—just there.

"Whoa,"

"Whoa," Rudy and I said in unison. And the one who kicked it . . . was none other than Tommy Müller. My not-so-recent-anymore beating for him was still lodged in his mind. He probably saw it whenever he closed his eyes. I unleashed God's wrath when I beat him up—well, when I beat the other kid up; then I beat him up, with less—but still a lot of—fury.

"For old times' sake?" He said, standing there and grinning himself stupid. Rudy and I looked at each other.

"There's nothing left, Tommy. I don't understand your 'for old times' sake.'" Rudy said, staring at the ground.

"Liesel?" I sat there, unsure of what to do. On one hand, Tommy, on the other, Rudy. Obviously, I knew who I would choose.


	2. Seperate, The Amber Eyes Are Watching

** DISCLAIMER: I Do Not Own ****The Book Thief**

We continued to sit, me holding the ball in my lap, Rudy eyeing Tommy for minutes on end before any of us spoke.

"Well? What do we do _now_?"

"Memories," Tommy, with a saddened twitch, said. "Let's share them. I'll start.

"I remember that the happiest time so far was when I found out I was going to have a little sibling. My mother's belly looked like it was going to pop, it was getting so big. When she had her and brought her home, I was suddenly a big brother. It meant the world to me. I vowed—"

"I don't _care_, Müller, I want to see _my_ little sister again!" Rudy, sobbing heavily, with intensity, shouted; he grasped a golden chain in his fingers, which were stained with drying blood caked across his knuckles as if he'd dug himself out, like he angrily punched a brick wall and missed seeing the sign that had said "Wet Paint."

While it was silent, I looked at Rudy once more.

Who knows, it may be my last time seeing him at all?

His normally ice blond hair was dusted with gray and green; pointed everywhere, frozen dirt gluing it in its various places. Porcelain skin glowing from underneath, like someone superhuman; even with all the dirt clinging to him, he still showed as pale. I wondered exactly _how much_ charcoal had died in the "Jesse Owens Incident." German blue eyes were swimming, cast at the ground like a fishing lure into a lake; the rubble his feet rested on top of was his lake, murky and deep. His normal smile was long gone, it had died. Know how it died?

It got bombed.

"Liesel, you go next. Tell us about your brother." Tommy implied, tugging at the thin rope that was my patience.

"Werner," I said, scornfully, "Is exactly none of your business, Müller."

"Then I'll go." Rudy said, turning his attention from the ground to the locket.

"This was Bettina's. I have it to remember her by. Liesel, you already know the story about my Papa and Mama refusing for me on going to that school. I'll tell Tommy but you can listen too . . . if you want.

"I was just sitting in the living room with some of my younger siblings. Bettina was beside me, the lights were off, as was tradition, and we had stacked dominoes so far you couldn't see the floor. They were in winding patterns, and Bettina kept asking me if we could knock them down. I kept saying no; we had to light a candle first, and then I heard them; Mama, Papa, in the kitchen talking to who Bettina said was 'monsters in big coats.' They had deep voices, and they carried around the house. They said something about sending me away, to a school. They said I was physically and mentally proficient," Rudy had a hint of that old smile—in his eyes. "But they said no. I remember being confused; why would they say no?

"Then, after a few months or so, when they took my Papa and yours, Liesel, I thanked them for not sending me away to become one of those Nazi big-shots in their pressed-and-polished uniforms. I cursed the _Führer _for doing this to his own people! I wanted my Papa back . . ." To this point, Rudy stopped and hung his head even lower to the ground. He looked like a broken Jack-In-The-Box.

They expect to get anywhere like _this_? Sitting around and _talking_?! That's not what got us into this mess!

What got us into it was the _Führer_, kissing his own dignity goodbye along with his people. We were, unfortunately, the sand that got carried away by the wind he kissed.

"I'm going to look for help."

Before anyone could object, I was on my feet and moving. Rudy, of course, tried to follow me. But when I turned around and told him no, like I meant it, and I did, he sat back down and hung his head again; the Jack-In-The-Box look grew on him quickly, as it seemed.

I got down the street and then some into a disaster-area; I couldn't tell where I was, or even what was here before I was.

"Oh God, where was I _going_," I muttered, to no one in particular but myself. Rudy's mind was having a weird affect on me; I got my new weird sense of bravado from him, cunning ideas and simple solutions. First, I needed to know where the hell I was! "What's _wrong_ with this place?!" In front of me, two eyes glared from under a pile of tossed soil from the shockwave of the bomb.

Rudy's POV

Tommy followed me away from Liesel, away from her stormy and aggravated attitude. Away from her golden-blond hair and chocolate eyes, too; she stomped away almost gracefully, like it was second-nature, but the flash of lightning I saw between us made me wary to go after her, even though I wanted to. Tommy told me it was best to leave her alone; that it wouldn't do any good to follow her. I didn't like his advice, but I swallowed my pride and took it. She would come back, he said. _Saumensch_, she would probably crawl back on her hands and knees!

"Rudy? Rudy, you're being really quiet—is something wrong? God, just forget about Liesel, she'll be back soon enough!" Tommy chastised, giving me a look mixed with worry and annoyance. Liesel . . . Why didn't she come back yet, though? It was getting dark; the blotchy sun behind the thickness of the clouds kept on getting deeper and deeper and deeper until the strong-smelling sky was dyed green; a mixture of dark night blue and bomb-yellow.

"Tommy; do you think Liesel's going to—"

"Rudy, knock it off!"

"No, Tommy! I _mean_, do you think she can get help?" Tommy didn't answer. Instead, he set the ball down on an upraised piece of concrete and shingle, which I didn't know if it was supposed to be a roof or a wall, and tried to kick it; he missed.

"Tommy, Müller, you are the absolute _worst_ soccer player in the universe! Here," I offered my goal-kicking abilities, and shot the ball so far ahead we couldn't see it anymore. Then, pure genius. "Hey, Müller bet you can't win if I race you to find the ball!" And Jesse Owens took off like a rocket, the black magic one, who won four golden medals for a reason. He was fast. Tommy was so far behind, and I was so far up ahead, I thought I lost him. Good—my plan had worked perfectly. I was free to roam and scout. Not for the ball, though . . .

An hour later, in front of a shockwave-stricken area that looked as if no one had ever inhabited it, I found Liesel.

"Liesel," I gasped, hurrying over to the spot where she lay, like she was on her deathbed. "_Saumensch_," I breathed, swatting her hair out of her face for her. Liesel was on her side, and blood was staining her shirt. What did this?

A low, rumbling growl.

A frightened Rudy Steiner.

Amber eyes and the crack of a gun.

Time froze for a moment.

A man in uniform rushed towards the beast, gun in his right hand, and struck at it. The beast whimpered, and the hero turned around.

"No way . . ." I stared, unblinking, as he turned around.


	3. Dead Amber Eyes, The Stranger Recognized

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own ****The Book Thief**

The truth is, I didn't know him—well, not his _name_. Just that I'd seen him at the Hitler Youth meetings before, and I couldn't remember his name. He was one of those kids who sat in a corner almost all by themselves, and studied or whatever they did.

"She's bleeding," he said, kneeling down next to Liesel's other side; I pulled her towards me, and his hands, originally going to cover the red spot on her shirt, froze. "Do you want me to help her or not?"

"No," Finality echoed in my tone. I pressed my hand to stop the bleeding, to stop Liesel from dying in my arms. He stood up and walked a few meters away.

"The rescue people are down the street. If I were you, I would find a way to carry that girl and get her to them—fast." And he walked away, _arschloch_.

"Liesel," I murmured into her ear, "Liesel, I'm going to get you and Tommy to the recue team. You'll be safe, I promise."

"_Saukerl_, what about you?" she huffed, placing her hand over mine on the swiftly growing stain on her stomach, "You deserve a chance at life more than anything!"

"Listen, _Saumensch,_ you'll take what the hell I give you. Now you and Tommy and I—Happy now?—we're going to go find those people, and we'll live. We'll live with a flame, one that won't ever go out."

Liesel POV

The snarling dog lunged, with white foam that looked like the cloud Max had once painted on the cellar wall circling its mouth. Its paws in front, looking bigger than it really was, claws scratched at my stomach.

I knew I was strong—I _knew_ it, especially from that one time on the schoolyard. But why couldn't I fight it off properly? I swung and missed; swung again and it whined a little bit; kicked and missed. What was wrong with me?

_"It was like a great beast," _I remembered. A great white beast with a gray heart; Max painted it on our demolished wall.

Then, I knew what I had to do.

If Max could fight the _Führer_ in our basement, the man with the bony fists, Maxi Taxi, I could at least try to fight off a _dog_.

The dog's claws had already raked down my chest, leaving a big mark like a red splash of Papa's paint. The paint was still in the basement. _The Word Shaker_ was in there, too; along with my book. It was probably gone by now, thrown on a garbage truck, in Death's iced hands.

Hands like the bloody ice I dug through in sheer disbelief as a child, trying to dig my brother up. Like a nasty _Watschen_ from a nun in the corridor, or the graze on my knee from falling, trying to tell Papa that the coat-clad "monsters", in Rudy's sisters' words, walked down the street. Max had to go—he _had_ to, then. Because he was afraid of getting us hurt. He was selfless. I knew that he would give everything back if he could; all the "trouble" he didn't cause; all of the heartbreak he did.

Why was there heartbreak?

He left.

And he never came back.

The dog suddenly yelped and fell over onto its side; it died. I fell as the little splash of red "paint" on my ribs had grown into an explosion. I was breathing heavily and only then did I realize that Rudy was cradling me, chanting "Don't die; don't die, Liesel, don't die."

"She's bleeding." Some dude said. I didn't know him at all. Rudy pulled me, hurting the explosion of red, towards him. I looked at the sky, a churning deep orange like the color of rust. Clouds were the chips of the rusted metal falling off, falling onto the war-zone. The sun looked like it was setting, but it had to be night. The moon didn't show. It was an unnatural night, one that wasn't dark; I caught a bit of the conversation I wasn't listening to.

"Liesel; Liesel, I'm going to get you and Tommy to the rescue team. You'll be safe, I promise."

What? And leave himself here to die?

"_Saukerl_, what about you?" the explosion on my ribs grew even more, turning into a tidal wave of red, a plague of it; I placed my hand on his. "You deserve a chance at life more than anything!"

"Listen, _Saumensch_, you'll take what the hell I give you. Now you, Tommy, and I—Happy now?—we're going to go find those people, and we'll live. We'll love with a flame, one that won't ever go out."

I smiled at him, at his obvious persistence. Rudy was Rudy, stubborn, grown, and as much a _saukerl_ as ever.

"Well, Rudy? Are you going to help me up or what? I need to get something to stop this bleeding, or I'm going to croak."

"Not funny, _Saumensch_!" but we both ended up dissolving into small giggles that rose into the rusting sky and turned it a deep red; all the rust peeled off, new paint from Papa's cellar coating it. I wonder if the cloud's still there?


	4. Jewish Feet And Their Guardian Angel

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE BOOK THIEF**

**Special thanks to my reviewer who actually showed her name: ****MaloryCullen14**

**Thank you, Malory!**

 Max POV 

Filthy Jewish feet, pounding guilt-ridden soil, over a land that had wanted nothing to do with me; then why was I here?

There was one reason—a very strong, skinny reason: Liesel Meminger.

She was the one who compelled me to keep going on. She was my Word Shaker, my Standover Man, that wasn't a man at all. When we, the Jews, were paraded to Dachau on that warm, sunny day that seared my eyes further than the stars during that one raid, she saw me. She helped me. Liesel Meminger was my guardian angel. That was the only reason I could think of. Liesel Meminger was one of the brightest stars in that sky, the one that was boiling hot, and the one that was turning rusty. _It was like a great beast_; yes, Liesel, a great beast with a gray heart. How she said my name with such adoration, such _friendliness_, was beyond my comprehension. She was not like the rest of the German people in those times. Liesel was kind; she didn't care what a person was, or how they looked.

Old memories brought me back to when I fought the _Führer_ in her basement, with a ring made of drop sheets, and a _Führer_ made up of air. My scrawny chest always heaved when I was done; the famous bony fists of Maxi Taxi the Jewish Fist-fighter always hanging at my sides, limp and sweaty. Damp hair chilled my forehead; covering my eyes, too.

I remembered when she tried to cut my hair: _"Make as many mistakes as you want Liesel,"_ I had said. She made as many as I could ever care to count, and I loved them all. There was simply nothing better than to have a haircut from a trusted little girl.

Sitting by the fire; we exchanged nightmares. Hers of her brother Werner, that was supposed to be in the bed I had fallen asleep for three days on, staring with fixed and glassy eyes at the floor of the train; the third carriage. Mine was of the _Führer_, enslaving my people, going to Dachau, marching in the poorest streets in Molching and getting jeered at like a circus freak show. I was a human being, damn it!

So what if I was a little pale due to lack of sunlight? If I was as scrawny as a chicken's bone from keeping the already ill-portioned meals I got from going all at once? If I was a Jew? Liesel didn't care—in fact, she thought it was unfair. All she knew was that she was the book thief without words, and I was a Jewish fist-fighter who went rounds with Hitler in her basement, and wrote her books with hidden meanings. We didn't sound similar at all, but the truth was that we were more alike than first noticed.

I _knew_ Liesel; she was German, like me, skinny, also like me, pale blond and around fourteen years old now. I was a German Jew, scrawny, pale skinned instead of pale blond, dark haired, deep-set eyes, and in my twenties. I needed to see her; I _needed_ to.

The balls of my feet hit the broken pavement with escalated force now, scattering tiny pebbles around with each forced step. I also wanted to see her Papa, Hans Hubermann.

Hans played my father's accordion, my father taught him how when they were both in the war. Except Hans made it through the war, and my Papa didn't. My Papa died of loss of blood, his shins getting blown off at the knee on a grassy hill. The hill was stained deep burgundy like a spill of fine French wine.

When I reached Himmel Street, I inwardly cursed myself and fell to the ground.

Around me were still bodies of people I did not recognize. No pale hair, or deep brown eyes, or skinny legs. No hair the color of lemons, speaking of her friend Rudy Steiner. If he was around here, he could've told me what happened to her, not making me wait. Nothing was "the easy way" anymore.

"Liesel!" screaming, I ran through the demolished street like it was my own house, abiding my own rules. Sunlight filtering through the rotting-blood sky hurt my eyes, as strong muscles from push-ups in Liesel's basement worked to their fullest extent, flipping piles of greasy rubble and ruins, kicking the road beneath me, looking everywhere for Liesel Meminger. "Liesel, where are you?!"

No answer.

Just time, and filthy Jewish feet pounding the guilt-ridden soil beneath me; and a lot of time that was, to be searching.

Not matter how many times I called her name or recited excerpts from my Word Shaker, she would not answer. I contemplated giving up, sitting down and facing the truth, and crying. The second option was winning out so far.

An uplifted square of crumbling roof greeted me, letting me sit upon it, letting me think about what happened, and what the truth really was.

Liesel's dead—Liesel's alive. What should I believe? I wanted to believe that she was alive, looking for me in the remnants of Dachau, looking and searching and not finding. I hoped that she would try here next, looking and searching and finding me all alone on someone's crumbled roof. I hoped she would see me and smile with her perfect German teeth and run to me, her arms outstretched in one of the many hugs I got while staying with her. Her smile would stretch into her eyes like sunlight, and make her teeth look even whiter than they already were, snow white. That was what I hoped, anyways.

I imagined our reuniting like this: a sunny day in Molching, children playing soccer on Himmel Street. Jews were free; a wonder to every German Nazi in the party, but not a disgrace to all. To some, it was a blessing. I would be waiting in the kitchen of thirty-three Himmel Street with Liesel's Papa, Hans. He would play my father's accordion as well as he could as Liesel walked in. Before she got in, though, I would hide in the basement. Her Papa would tell her that she had a "special surprise" waiting for just her down there. I would've arranged the drop sheets into the semi-bed form that they once resembled. If she was as sharp as I thought she was, her eyes would fill up with unshed tears and she would yell, "Max!" as loud as she could. I would crawl out from under the drop sheets and smile at her. She would ask me if I was really there, and we would look at the great white beast of a cloud, stretching across the basement wall like a tightrope, the great beast with a gray heart. Liesel had a red heart, filled with happiness and compassion, love from her Mama and Papa. I wondered if I had any heart. Liesel would say that I was being stupid—of course you have a heart, you _dummkopf_. And we would sit in front of a settled fire, one that was not burning, and we would exchange dreams; not nightmares. She would be so happy, and I could make her that way forever. Her smile would flood her eyes like rainwater in one of the many potholes in the road, and we would sit together for hours and hours, quizzing each other on the books we've written. She would tell me more and more excerpts from my Word Shaker. She would tell me that she loved it, and she would want to take the seed from my cheek. Liesel and I would've been so happy with what we had, we wouldn't need anybody else.

The truth:

Liesel Meminger was probably dead, blown to bits in a massive explosion that shook her Earth under her feet.

Why was it "her Earth"?

It was her Earth because I gave it to her—I gave her my own, so she has two. Her Earth is not yours, but it used to be ours. Until it got blasted away; Himmel Street was her Earth, along with Rudy Steiner's. It was not mine, but I told her all about the world I came from. She liked the description of what it used to be—I didn't tell her what it was then.

Liesel was probably dead, under the roof I was sitting on. Oh, God. I stood up and brushed myself off. Tears left streaks down my cheeks—I was washed, clean-shaven, but the air here was so filthy my face looked like it hadn't been cleaned since Dachau.

"Oh, Liesel," I wailed, burying my face in my hands, "Why _you_?" Yes, why her, of all of the people who died here on Himmel Street? Why couldn't she survive?

A light whisper on the wind through my ears: _Believe, Max, believe. She's alive, Liesel's alive, and all you have to do is believe it. Believe it, Max._

Liesel, I'm coming for you.


	5. Save Your Sorry, Saumensch

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE BOOK THIEF**

 Liesel POV 

We would live with a flame that would never go out; yeah, sounded about right.

Rudy set me down, stood up, and shielded his squinting eyes against nothing. The guy was walking away, down the street, where the rescue people were. Was he one of them? Shouldn't he be carrying me back there if he was one of them?

"Liesel, I have to get you all the way over to the next few blocks. If you don't have any water, any of us, and I have to get Tommy, too, we won't make it. I'll be right back." And he ran away, towards the way I thought he came.

An echo reaching my ears: "Liesel!"

A man's voice, a man's voice so familiar I couldn't stand it. I stood up and sprinted towards it, the sky bathed in Papa's paint seeming warmer and warmer as it followed me into its depths.

There was one problem, though.

The sound came from Himmel Street, nowhere near where Rudy had run off to.

The devastation of the area still got to me, after all this time. Ruins of human people I knew and houses that seemed so familiar to me lay about, exploded everywhere. The plague of red on my ribs burned, scorched like the red painted fire that illuminated the unnatural burning nighttime sky.

Rudy's brother, Kurt, I remembered, still in his hole underground.

Devastation;

No, murder.

The cry echoed again: "Liesel, where are you?!" I ran faster, until the red on my shirt had dragged itself painfully down to my thigh. _Scheisse!_

The furthest house on Himmel Street:

Crumbled, misshapen and cruelly painted, like a tarnished cross in the middle of a road, it still stood with a sunken expression on its foundation.

A silhouette on the horizon, tall and questionably a man from this distance; he was sitting on the frowning foundation's eye, left over from the roof; a glass eye.

As I ran closer and closer, but still wary, I realized who it was. He was waiting for someone—me. Swampy eyes and twiggy hair that fell onto the bridge of his nose like the most wonderful sight ever.

"Max!" I couldn't help it; I ignored all of the pain in my side, all of the pain in my heart and mind, and focused on Max. Running faster than I thought even Jesse Owens himself could run, I ran into him, "Max, Max you're alive!" But it wasn't Max.

Who was it then?

It was just a tree, actually, bent in the shape of a man. Its limbs were awkwardly disfigured in bizarre arms and legs, and his eyes were clumps of moss, and his hair was actually made up of twigs. Rough bark scratched my arms; but I didn't let go. This was the closest thing I've had to Max so far, so don't let go, Liesel; don't let go. I closed my eyes tightly and—

"Liesel Meminger? Liesel, is that you, is it really _you_?" That voice; the voice of the whisperer, who called me on the wind, and I rushed to him like wildfire to a pile of dry firewood. That voice belonged to _Max_.

"Max," I said, uncoiling my arms from the tree and wrapping them around the warm, living body in front of me, harsh excitement building. "Max!"

His skinny fingers wound into my shoulders; "Liesel," they said, _"Liesel."_

"I can't believe it—it's really you! After all this _time_, it's you!"

"Are you the one who took the seed from my cheek?" he quoted, a tear falling from his eye; I felt it drop onto my scalp.

"Yes, I am, Max, I Am." And we fell to the destroyed ground, laughing in sheer disbelief, until we could feel each others' hair under our fingers, feel the solid warmth of a heartbeat in our ears, and see each others' lips moving, and words floating into the sky, a shade of opaque blue; a feeling of home. This was the only thing that felt _right_ today; maybe ever.

I suddenly had a strong urge to write pages and pages and pages of my book; a feeling almost as strong as the moment I found Rudy, heaped under hundreds of pounds of street trash in such pitiful condition that he was holding his dead and in-half brother in his arms.

Max kissed the top of my head; and held me tighter.

"Where's Rudy?" he said, "I want to meet him." He didn't even stop to think if he was dead; either that or he knew. Somehow, he knew.

"I know; if you somehow lived, he did too. You were together, am I right?"

"Yes, Max, and we need to get back to him; he'll be worried, and so will Tommy."

"The twitcher?"

"Yes, the twitcher," I laughed, pulling Max along Himmel Street to Hubert Oval, where Rudy was waiting, probably.

We had only made it half-way, when a voice got us from behind.

"Who's this, Liesel, _huh_?!" _Schiesse_! It was Rudy! I whipped my head around to face him, holding Tommy up on one foot. "Liesel, I trusted you to stay there while I got Tommy and went to go get help. Why are you here, hugging some _stranger_?"

"But he's not a stranger, Rudy! He's Max!"

"Uh-huh, _right_, Liesel, right. You expect me to believe that? You didn't trust me—and you went off on your own, your bleeding own, to find help. You didn't think I could manage, did you, Liesel? And tell the _truth_." Where was all this coming from? Rudy knows I trust him!

Rudy POV

"_Mein Gott, _Liesel's so bloody," I mumbled, more to myself than anything. I just left her there, too, all alone. _Gott, what if something happens while I'm looking for Tommy?!_ No, it won't. Liesel's too strong to fall for anything like that.

But her _blood_ was soaking my hands, and no matter how hard I tried to wipe it on my pants, I couldn't bring myself to. Not because I liked blood of my best friend on my hands, or that I valued my torn and fraying pants too much, but because it was _Liesel_. I already made my mind up about her: I loved her. To death; and if that meant scaring the hell out of Tommy when I got to him, it meant scaring the hell out of Tommy when I got to him.

I hope Liesel's alright.

I found Tommy basically in a ravaged gutter, clutching his left ankle and howling in pain; the soccer ball was next to him, still not popped.

Images of Liesel's face when the ball bounced onto her lap when kicked by Tommy ran through my mind.

Tommy was hurt.

"What happened?" I knelt down next to him, as he tried shifting his weight to face me and failed miserably.

"Ow, Rudy, I fell—what does it look like, _Saukerl_?" Stupid Tommy; he _always_ did things like this. Spraining his ankle, twitching, falling, anything.

"Don't you go saying stuff like that about who's going to save your ass, Tommy!" I scolded.

"But _you're the one who abandoned it_! It's your fault I ran trying to catch up with you, and fell! It's bleeding—see?!" He lifted his pant leg to his knee, and it was red all the way down—how many people would I make bleed today?

"I'm sorry," he seemed to figure out that I wasn't saying sorry to him, but Liesel. "I'm sorry, Liesel," I didn't think he heard it.

"You better be—what?" Then, a look of fury, "You left Liesel alone, didn't you? You found her, and you left her alone so you could find me. I bet she was hurt, too; it sounds like something you would do."

"I'm sorry," _Liesel,_ "I really am."

"Aw, fine, just help me up—we have to get to Liesel too.

On the way of helping Tommy up, something inside me told me that she was gone—that she found something, or worse; _something found her_. I rushed Tommy to limp as fast as he could with his soaked ankle, and when we got to Hubert Oval, she wasn't there.

"You see?" Tommy said, and for once I didn't reply.

I dragged Tommy back up the street, trying to get to the far edge of Himmel, where I thought she'd go. Her Papa, she just wants to see her Papa, the _Saumensch_. But he was dead; I didn't want to think of what else could happen if I was wrong, so I stuck with the pitiful excuse of being stupid; something I could pass for very well.

Then, I saw them; a skinny girl in the arms of a skinny guy. He looked like he'd been through hell and back—like we all do. His hair was sticking up in places awkward in the least, and his skin was a deathly combination of gray and sallow. His arms were roped with muscle, though, from some sort of extensive training—Hitler Youth? Was he in my division? No; he looked much too old to be in _my_ division—in his twenties or something.

"Liesel," he cooed, "Liesel," I don't think she heard it; but I did, and it made me angry. How dare he hold _my_ Liesel in front of me, and think she's his!

"Who's this, Liesel, _huh_?! Liesel, I trusted you to stay there while I got Tommy and went to go get help. Why are you here, hugging some _stranger_?"

"But he's not a stranger, Rudy! He's Max!"

"Uh-huh, _right_, Liesel, right. You expect me to believe that? You didn't trust me—and you went off on your own, your bleeding own, to find help. You didn't think I could manage, did you, Liesel? And tell the _truth_." I knew she trusted me; but I couldn't believe she knew I liked her, and went off with some _guy_.

"Rudy, I—"

"Save your 'sorry', _Saumensch_, and take Tommy and be useful. You too, _arschloch_." And I walked away.

 Liesel POV 

When I saw him yell at me to "save my sorry", it hurt. More than Max leaving, more than thinking I found him, more than the red plague on my ribs. I realized just then that I loved him, more than a friend. I had to go after him.

But what about Max?


	6. Bettina's Locket And Liesel's Anguish

**Disclaimer: I STILL don't own The Book Thief, though I wish I did.**

Liesel POV

"Max, I _have_ to go get him, he doesn't know what he's doing!" and I fell away from Max's arms, but he didn't react; he stood there motionless, like a torn page from _Mein Kampf_ resting at the bottom of a dusty grave, in the basement. It was disturbing, unsettling, like he was just a Jew in my basement again—silent, trained, hollow.

The worst part was that I knew he wasn't.

The worst part was that he knew, too.

Somehow, I hesitated between the two, turning back once just to turn my back again and run off in Rudy's direction. Max didn't lift his eyes, he didn't sit down again.

He only stood.

And stared, don't forget the staring.

My mind felt like a blank page, turned over and back again, but always the same; blank, empty. Only this time, there was no one around to write, no one to give me thought and feeling.

No one quite like Rudy, who made the job look so easy.

I ran to keep up with Rudy, truly believing he was Jesse Owens, leaping over foreign rubble and heated debris. Ashy flakes that looked like snow fell from the graying yellow sky, the rotting clouds like corpses of the once loved, the now dead. I knew I was strong, but I also didn't know how long I could hold up.

So much running, so much running away from a friend, so much running towards something greater than friendship. . . I think I can do it.

My feet hurt, I'm tired, and I can barely breathe!

But I have to catch up to him, no matter what.

All my running took me to the Amper, where Rudy found The Whistler, its rough waters in high tide and pulling at the banks, taking the occasional clod of earth with it; it flowed down the muddy waters and frothed into nothing but a few grains of dirt clinging to a blade of torn-up grass.

Rudy was sitting on the opposite bank, kicking his feet over the water, looking about ready to jump in. _Dummkopf_, doesn't he know that the water will carry him away?

"_Rudy,_" I called, "_Rudy, come back!"_

"No!"

"Please!"

"_Nein, Liesel!"_ And he leapt, splashing into the current. . .

. . . And not coming back up.

"_Rudy!" _calling frantically, trying to decide whether to jump in after him or go to get help, I rushed into the frigid waters, wading at first, until I was up to my waist.

Then, like a love-struck idiot, I dunked under and swam after him, using the swift current as leverage. It helped more than I thought it would, which was a pleasant surprise.

In a flash, Rudy was flailing his arms before me, reaching out towards something irregular in the river, something not right. Did it wash something away? Why was Rudy trying to get at it? Was it his? What was it?

"Ru—" I opened my mouth to yell at him, but got a whole lot of water instead. I was smashed underwater by a wave, but held on to Rudy's kicking ankle for about two seconds.

I let go, sinking unseen to the bottom; I felt smooth, soft silt underneath my toes. I fell down, the current stronger at the bottom than on the top, but the bottom of the river, its dirt, wouldn't let me free. As I closed my eyes, I saw something swimming towards me, reaching, bubbles sprouting from its nose with every loss of air, every breath. I wanted to see it, know what it was, especially the object in its hand, but I couldn't help it.

My eyes were so heavy, and I was so tires of running, of swimming, of doing anything. They stung from the contact with the filthy water.

All I wanted to do was rest. Was that so much to ask for?

Yes, it was.

But I couldn't hold my head up anymore, couldn't hold them open any longer. I closed them, and I never wanted to open them again.

Rudy POV

I almost cried and ran back around when I heard Liesel call out after me, telling that "Max" person that she had to go get me. But I didn't; sometimes you need time to think, time to decide, and time to know what the hell you're going to do next.

I needed all of these times, all of them to know what to do about a big problem clogging my mind, using up all its features, leaving no room for memories of any kind. Know what that problem's name was?

Liesel.

I made my mind up about her; I would be hers, she would be mine. My mind was _made up_. I couldn't go back on my word now just because of some person claiming to know her, claiming that he was a Jew from her basement. Surely it couldn't be true! Liesel would've told me, right? Or would she have?

I'd almost forgotten the thrill of running just to run, not away from any problem, but just to feel the wind, to feel like you're flying. High above everything! Above the Nazis, above Germany, above the world and all of its problems weighting me down! I felt like a bird, like I was weightless!

Until the cruelness of the world brought me back down, by forcing a rock in front of my toes and tripping me, and my last remnant of my family, little Bettina's locket with all our pictures inside, flew into the Amper not two yards away from my outstretched palm.

"No!" I screamed, sitting at the edge of the river. I swung my legs and kicked my shoes off. I placed my hands beside each leg and hoped to God I was a good swimmer.

"Please!" I heard, and I saw Liesel crying at the opposite bank of the river.

"_Nein, Liesel!_" I yelled, not right now, anyways.

I plunged into the icy water, and instantly started to look for Bettina's locket. I swum with my palms and fingers extended, feeling for the locket, swimming down to the silt-covered bottom of the Amper.

I heard another _splash!_ In the water came Liesel, her pitiful swimming somehow getting her to my ankles in almost no time. Not now!

Then, a glimmer of gold before my eyes, I shook Liesel off and launched myself at it, appearing above the surface with Bettina's locket in my hand.

Where was Liesel?

"_Mein Gott!"_ I shrieked and dove in again, swimming straight to the bottom and grabbing Liesel's hand. She was cold and her eyes were shut; I pulled on her hand. She was losing the faded pink in her cheeks; I tugged harder. We started to rise halfway up; I had a death-grip on her wrist. We broke the surface, coughing and spluttering; I thanked my lucky stars, and prayed never to have to do anything like that again.

**Well, that's the end! Not of the story, but of the chapter. Sorry I haven't updated in a while.**


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